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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28219176">34 Tite Street</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesometime/pseuds/makesometime'>makesometime</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast), The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, Established Relationship, M/M, Safe Haven, Safe House 2 (or 3), Spoilers for Rusty Quill Gaming Season 4, Spoilers for The Magnus Archives Season 5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 14:48:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,482</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28219176</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesometime/pseuds/makesometime</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>34 Tite Street is a place out of time.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>60</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>When In Rome Secret Santa 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>34 Tite Street</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Das_Silberschlussel/gifts">Das_Silberschlussel</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Gosh this was a lot of fun to write, and I really really hope you enjoy it, Key!! &lt;3&lt;3 As our resident purveyor of fine AUs, I hope this one passes muster :D</p><p>A very happy Holiday period to everyone reading this. Whether you celebrate an occasion or not, may you stay happy, safe and snug.</p><p>And to all in Rome, I love you with all of my person.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They’re in the process of walking along what Jon thinks used to be the Westway when he gets a whisper across his mind, a flash of a thought that makes him frown.</p><p>“Jon? What’s wrong?”</p><p>He shakes his head, pinching the brow of his nose against a blooming ache of <em>emptiness</em> as he tries to think harder on the sheer absence of any information.</p><p>“There’s another place ahead. Like… like Upton House, I guess? A blank spot.”</p><p>“Another safe house?” Martin’s hand tightens around his, pace slowing a little. The cameras around them stop and stare, interested.</p><p>“I don’t know… maybe? But I can’t think of any reason for it. And calling it ‘safe’ might be a bit of a misnomer.” He frowns, looking out across the stark and confusing landscape that at one point was so familiar to him. “It’s close to the Institute. Too close?”</p><p>Martin sighs, tugging on Jon’s hand and moving them back into a slow walk. “What does that <em>mean</em>?”</p><p>“I wish I knew, Martin. We can avoid it, if you want. We can approach from another direction.”</p><p>“Where even is it?” Martin asks, shooting a displeased look at a camera that gets too close.</p><p>Jon thinks, reaching out for a moment, getting a flash of brick and a shimmer of white and careful red letters spelling out ‘<em>SW 3’.</em></p><p>“Chelsea. Tite Street, to be precise.” He says, wishing that made it any clearer at all.</p><p>“Doesn’t sound familiar. What does spooky Google say?”</p><p>He barely has to think of it, the Eye presenting knowledge on a silver platter this close to the Panopticon. “Tite Street, named after William Tite, is a street in Chelsea, London, within the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea. Former residents include Gustav Pope, John Singer Sargent and Oscar Wilde.”</p><p>Martin makes a sound of vague interest, thumb rubbing restlessly against the back of his hand. “Interesting bunch. Bet they had some wild parties!”</p><p>Jon smiles. “Indeed. I can… Know? If you’d like?”</p><p>His boyfriend really is very adorable when he’s trying to hide that his interest is piqued by something. “... Nah. Feels a bit too strange. They were real people, after all.”</p><p>“As you wish.” Jon says, listing just a little and allowing his shoulder to nudge Martin’s. “So. Do we take a little detour to Chelsea? Just to see?”</p><p>Martin’s answer is clear in the tentatively excited curve of his lip. They both love a good mystery. And what’s the harm in <em>looking</em>?</p><p>“Sure. Why not? What’s the worst that can happen?”</p><p>#</p><p>
  <em>34 Tite Street is a place out of time. A boarding house for drifters and lost souls carved neatly out of reality by the careful touch of a talented hand.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Oscar Wilde looks over the main room, sees faces familiar and not, and allows himself to smile, leaning back in his chair by the fire and settling a hand over his stomach.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It is good to be here, untouched by any of the more unpleasant factors of existence. He feels in control here. His happy little domain filled with friends, strangers, ex-lovers and… he smiles again, looking over to the bar. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Zolf is leaning over the top of the bar, talking animatedly with a figure wearing far too many belts. His expression tells Oscar that he is thrilling in the petty interest of a stupid argument. Perhaps it is the eternal question of ‘Captain or First Mate’ that so many of their lodgers seem to have strongly held opinions of. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>But it doesn’t matter. Zolf is happy. So Oscar is happy.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>His husband - will he ever tire of such a descriptor? - is the one constant in his life now. Whereas everyone else tends to drift through in fits and starts, this place, this home is theirs to share, from now until… when, exactly? He doesn’t think too hard on it. Time is something he’s learnt not to question.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Figures pass through the halls outside his vision and he learns to let them be. In this place, people make themselves seen only when they want to be so. It is a private place. A safe place. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>A door closes, somewhere in the house, and Oscar senses another of their lodgers has moved on to some other time, some other place. Each visitor is marked by his body in one way or another - a tightening in his chest or an itch at his wrist, a thought, inserted into his mind or a tremor in one of his muscles. He welcomes them all. The day that they stop affecting him is one to worry over.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>At length, Zolf shoos the First Mate away to his room, leaving them blissfully alone in the parlor. Oscar nudges the seat across from him with the toe of his boot, making it let out a low whine as it scrapes across the wooden floor. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>It earns him a dry look, sharp in its good humour, and Zolf sets two empty glasses on the bartop.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Then…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A twinge. Right in the middle of his forehead. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>His third eye.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Oscar gets to his feet almost without realising he’s done so. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>They have new guests.</em>
</p><p>Jon takes a deep breath, feeling the air around them pick up again when the click of the tape recorder sounds. The cameras whirr, interested, but there is an… anxiety to their observations. Whatever is watching doesn’t like where they’ve found themselves.</p><p>Martin is so quiet that he turns his head, finding the taller man gaping at the black painted door.</p><p>“...Jon.” He says, unsteady yet anticipatory, somehow. “Did you say <em>Oscar Wilde is here</em>?”</p><p>#</p><p>Jon lifts his hand to knock on the door, only to almost overbalance as it disappears before he can touch it, opened by a hand that reveals itself to be attached to man wearing a bright smile. He’s dapper in that way that died out more than a century earlier, having put more effort into his appearance than Tim Stoker on a good day.</p><p>“Welcome!” The man says, apparently genuinely unconcerned that they’ve just appeared on his doorstep.</p><p>Martin freezes beside Jon, mouth partially open in shock. “Holy shit.”</p><p>The man chuckles to himself. “The same to you, I’m sure.” Without losing the jolly smile, he turns to shout over his shoulder. “Zolf! Zolf we have new guests!”</p><p>There’s some angry grumbling from further into the house.</p><p>“No, the front door!”</p><p>More angry grumbling.</p><p>Jon can just about make out the warmly amused quirk of the man’s lips. “I know! Positively novel!”</p><p>Martin recovers from his shock, sticking his hand out as soon as the man turns around. “Martin Blackwood.”</p><p>“A pleasure.” The man says, catching up Martin’s hand and bringing it to his lips, ducking to press a kiss to Martin’s knuckles. “Oscar Wilde. Welcome to my home.”</p><p>Jon stiffens, glancing between Oscar’s amused face and Martin’s flushed cheeks with narrowed eyes. He goes to say something, entirely unsure what exactly is going to leave his tongue, when Martin tugs his hand back with a faint laugh and joins it with Jon’s once more. Martin’s fingers are so pleasantly warm between his own that it chases away any lingering emotion.</p><p>Including jealousy.</p><p>“Well, come on in!” Oscar steps back, allowing them room to pass inside.</p><p>It’s only when Oscar shuts the door that Jon stumbles, feeling the immediate cessation of the Eye’s hold on him. It’s not like it was at Upton House, not consuming and wearying, leaving him weak and compromised. No. It almost feels as if he’s stepped into an embrace.</p><p>He’s not tired, but he <em>is </em>hungry. He’s not sore but he <em>is</em> aware of the state of both him and Martin.</p><p>Looking over, he finds his boyfriend appears to be just as pleasantly confused by the whole affair.</p><p>“If you head up the stairs, you’ll find a room open for you. Everything you need should be within.” Oscar says, gesturing to the staircase that’s so well lit with bright daylight that Jon glances around for windows, only to find none. Peculiar. “Once you’ve cleaned up, come back downstairs and my husband and I will be pleased to fetch whatever you need.”</p><p>It’s a little silly how comforting it is to hear the word <em>husband</em> from the man, even if the loss of carefully held tension such knowledge inspires doesn’t go entirely unnoticed by Martin.</p><p>“Thank you.” Martin says, sounding so relieved that Jon’s heart aches anew for how much he’s been through on this journey. “We’ll be down shortly.”</p><p>Oscar smirks, looking down at their joined hands and then back up at them. Jon braces himself for some sort of witticism, some sort of little comment that’ll leave him needing to justify himself or remain awkwardly, tellingly silent...</p><p>“As you like.” Oscar murmurs, ducking his head and moving into a side room without another word.</p><p>Well.</p><p>“Ever think that maybe we should be looking these gift horses in their mouths a little more?” Martin says with a smile, tugging on his hand and moving them towards the stairs.</p><p>“Possibly.” Jon replies, squeezing Martin’s hand. “But not today.”</p><p>#</p><p>The next hour or so is filled with such mundanity that he almost feels like crying when he steps out of the bathroom and finds Martin stood in front of a painting, wrapped in a soft robe.</p><p>Jon crosses the room, watching as Martin gives a little jolt at the sound of footsteps.</p><p>“Is everything alright?”</p><p>Martin looks at the painting and then back at Jon, shaking his head. “I’d swear…” He pauses, chewing at his lip. “This place is Distortion right, with all these doors…? But this painting. I feel like I could lose myself in it. Like I could dive right in and Simon Fairchild would be there to greet me.”</p><p>“He might be.” Jon says with a faint smile. “But I think it’s more apt to say that this place is… beyond definition. The Oscar Wilde downstairs is not <em>the</em> Oscar Wilde. As far as I know, the famous Irish playwright was never married to a dwarf.”</p><p>Martin groans, rubbing a hand over his forehead. “Is this a dream? This is a dream isn’t it? Where are we really? Passed out in the street?”</p><p>Jon reaches out a palm to smooth over Martin’s bicep in soothing circles. “Hey. If it’s a dream… God knows I’ve had worse.”</p><p>“Hard same, there.”</p><p>“I hear plenty of people moving around in this place but I can’t <em>See</em> them. It’s strange.” Jon sighs, crowding in a little closer and smiling when Martin loops an arm instinctively around him. “I expected to feel weak. Instead I feel… protected?”</p><p>“Wilde doesn’t <em>seem</em> like an Eldritch horror at least. Which given the pattern of this whole journey is a real turn-up for the books.” Martin says, resting his chin against the top of Jon’s head. “Though given how close we are to the Institute, it would be a particularly cruel trick.”</p><p>“Perhaps we should go speak with him.” Jon offers. “Can’t let you miss out on being able to say you spoke to <em>the</em> Oscar Wilde.”</p><p>Martin laughs. “He’s not <em>the</em> Oscar—. No you know what? I deserve this. I deserve to get to talk to Oscar Wilde!”</p><p>“You do.” Jon says, unable to keep the fondness out of his voice. “I’m just glad it wasn’t Keats, or I might have had to do the rest of this journey on my own.”</p><p>“Oh fuck off.” Martin huffs out a laugh, dropping his hold and wandering over to the wardrobe.</p><p>Jon watches him rummage through piles of clothes for a moment, then catches the edge of a smile as he pulls back an armful of clothing. Martin crosses to the bed, laying out a jumper, t-shirt and pair of trousers that strike at some faint moment in his memory.</p><p>“This is mad.” Martin says, holding up a t-shirt to him. “You remember this? From—.”</p><p>“Your first day, yes. Yes I remember Martin.” He replies, moving closer. “What on earth possessed you to wear a <em>Lego</em> t-shirt on your first day?”</p><p>“Oh, says Mr Bright Red Trousers over here.” Martin tips his head towards the wardrobe. “Go look, maybe it has those too.”</p><p>“They were <em>burgundy</em>.” Jon says as he heads over, intending to look for something else entirely, <em>thank you. </em>“I don’t think Jonah needs to see me coming even further away.”</p><p>Martin chuckles as Jon chooses something inoffensive from the selection of clothes, quickly dressing and sitting himself on the bed with the remains of his drink. By the time Jon’s ready too, he’s starting to fidget with a buzz of nervous energy.</p><p>“Ready?” Jon asks, standing in front of him and holding out a hand.</p><p>Martin blows out a breath between pursed lips and takes his hand, getting to his feet. “As I’ll ever be, I guess.”</p><p>#</p><p>He’s not sure who enjoys the conversation that follows in the parlor more - Martin or Oscar Wilde.</p><p>Jon finds himself sitting at the bar, watching with bemused affection as Martin debates rhythmic structure with a long-dead poet, picking at a bowl of snacks that he’s certain are the same as the ones served at Georgie’s flatwarming in 2009.</p><p>“Y’know. Of all the people we’ve had through here over the years, I don’t think any of them have engaged him as well as your boy.”</p><p>“I'll be sure to tell him later.“ Jon smiles, watching the way Zolf’s eyes settle on Oscar for a moment, then turn back to Jon.</p><p>“Ah, it's just nice is all. Poetry ain't my strong suit.”</p><p>Setting the bowl down, Jon stretches, feeling all of his joints do a little crackle. “No, it's not mine either. I've not got the knack for it.”</p><p>“Between you and me, I'm not sure most people do.” Zolf says, gruff voice filled with an unreasonable amount of pride. “Tea?”</p><p>“Oh! Yes, please, that would be lovely.” Jon mutters, distracted by the way Martin laughs and pushes to his feet, wandering over and scrubbing his hands over his hair.</p><p>“After all this, I’m going to write <em>so much</em>.” Martin says, leaning in to press a kiss to Jon’s cheek. He doesn’t see the sad twist of Jon’s lips and the look that Oscar shoots him - considering, and consoling.</p><p>Zolf clears his throat and sets a teapot on the counter, beckoning Oscar close with a little wave of his hand. Jon tries not to intrude as they share a silent conversation through eye contact alone, before Oscar strokes tender fingers along Zolf’s cheek and picks up the teapot.</p><p>“Would you join me, Jon?”</p><p>Jon looks to Martin, who only shrugs and seats himself at the bar. For lack of anything better to do, Jon follows Oscar over to the fireplace and settles across from him in a chair that seems significantly less used.</p><p>“There’s something on your mind.” Oscar says, pouring a cup of tea that he wants so very much to enjoy, even if it wasn’t made by Martin.</p><p>When Oscar offers the cup, he curls his hand around the saucer and pulls it into his chest, cradling its heat like a small treasure.</p><p>“Earlier.” He says, before he can think better of it. “You’re the first person I’ve met on this journey who’s not made some snide comment about Martin and me.”</p><p>Oscar’s face turns... sad, if he had to try and pinpoint it without really knowing the man. “I’m sorry. I can imagine that’s not pleasant.”</p><p>“No. No it’s not.” Jon says. “But that’s not my point, exactly.”</p><p>“I cannot claim to have been innocent of making pointed comments in my time.” Oscar cuts in. “But I like to consider myself a little more considerate by now. The love of a good dwarf will do that to a person.”</p><p>Jon glances over at the bar to find Martin deep in conversation with Zolf, the two of them looking like they’re debating something in a particularly good natured fashion. It’s nice, in its way, to see Martin conversing with someone so freely and happily. It’s been an isolating journey. The simplicity of genuine human connection can’t be forced.</p><p>“How long have you been together?”</p><p>“Millennia.” Oscar says, breathlessly fond. “And, equally, no time at all.”</p><p>“I would take millennia right now.” Jon replies, very quietly. “I have many regrets. But none more than the fact that Martin and I won’t have <em>time</em>.”</p><p>Oscar’s eyes are fixed on his husband with such an adoring look that Jon almost feels as if he’s intruding. But eventually Oscar picks up his tea and takes a sip, smiling to himself as he does so. Jon follows suit and has to fight back a groan of pleasure at the flavour that spills over his tongue. It’s like every single cup of tea that Martin brought him and every emotion that he felt in those moments hit him all over again. He closes his eyes and he can <em>see</em> Martin’s head poking around his office door, can see the tentative smile and the offered steaming mug.</p><p>It aches. It aches so much.</p><p>“Zolf is a whizz in the kitchen.”</p><p>Jon opens his eyes slowly, “Apparently so.” He swallows another mouthful, before speaking again. “Do you know what’s going on out there?”</p><p>“Out… where, exactly?” Oscar asks. “Do you understand what this place is? And why a question like that is pointedly undirected?”</p><p>Ah, there’s the challenging conversationalist he expected.</p><p>“Do you know what’s happening in the world destroyed by Jonah Magnus?”</p><p>Oscar is silent for a moment, considering. Then he shudders, setting his tea down and looking at Jon with such naked pity that Jon feels like fleeing. “Oh. I’m so very sorry.”</p><p>“Yes, well. There’s not a great deal you can do about it now.”</p><p>“Nor you, by the looks of things.” He offers.</p><p>Jon smiles tightly. There’s a great deal of difference between knowing that to be true and hearing it from some sort of… fae being in a place out of time. But there’s enough sense left in him to ignore the initial desire to lash out. As ridiculous as it seems, it doesn’t seem like Oscar is crowing about it.</p><p>“You can stay here as long as you like.” The man continues, glancing back at Martin briefly. “Though I suspect neither of you will be able to bear that for too long.”</p><p>“We have…” Jon sighs, wishing the justification didn’t trip off his tongue as easily as it does. “To save the world. Or at least try.”</p><p>He wasn’t expecting <em>that</em> to be the factor that would flash familiarity on Oscar’s face, but the man looks like he <em>understands</em>, somehow.</p><p>“Ah yes. We had to do that once too.”</p><p>Jon pauses, not sure if he should laugh or frown. “And how did that go for you?”</p><p>“Well, I died.”</p><p>“Ah.”</p><p>Oscar gestures to himself and then at Jon. “As you can see. There are other avenues than the traditional to walk along.”</p><p>It puts a thought in the back of his brain. A flicker of hope, perhaps. He snuffs it out quickly, because there’s no <em>time</em> for that, no <em>reason</em> for that.</p><p>“I sense…” Oscar says, pausing to take another sip of tea. “No. Perhaps best not to say anything more. I admire you, Jon. For pushing on with this.”</p><p>“It’s quite simple, really. I caused it, so I need to be the one to make it right.”</p><p>Oscar presses his lips together, but doesn’t comment, which Jon is indescribably grateful for. He can’t stop to think too much about it. He is only strong, only determined, only willful when he doesn’t have time to think otherwise. He cannot let the doubt set in.</p><p>“Well, Jon. As I said. Please feel free to make this place of rest your own for as long as necessary.” Oscar says, standing. He moves in close, lifts a hand and then stops, setting it back by his side before it can reach out for Jon. “Zolf and I will do what we can to help.”</p><p>“Thank you.” He says.</p><p>And means it.</p><p>#</p><p>“You’re <em>joking</em>.”</p><p>Jon watches with a smile as Martin leans in, staring at Oscar with eyes wider than Jon can remember seeing for some time.</p><p>“I can assure you I’m not.” Oscar says, eyes twinkling as he brings his fork to his mouth. “A city on the back of a giant bear.”</p><p>Martin looks at him, utterly delighted. “Jon! Are you hearing this?”</p><p>“I am.” Jon laughs. “It sounds…”</p><p>“Unbelievable? That’s what I thought, when I woke up.” Oscar says, glancing across at Zolf. “Isn’t that right, love?”</p><p>Zolf rolls his eyes, spearing a chunk of sausage and biting into it. “Wouldn’t believe me until I bloody showed him the fur. I swear. No trust in me.”</p><p>“Dearest. Light of my life.” Oscar smirks when Zolf flushes, leaning a bit closer. “<em>Darling</em>. How dare you suggest such a thing.”</p><p>Zolf scoffs, but reaches out with his free hand, smiling when Oscar’s fingers immediately thread with his. He pulls it up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the centre of Oscar’s palm.</p><p>Jon wonders, sometimes. What people see when they look at him and Martin. He’s never really been one for public displays of affection, not even when he was younger. Would anyone know they were together, just from looking at them?</p><p>(Does he care?)</p><p>Perhaps a little bit. It’s nice, watching two people who are desperately, openly in love with one another. And he knows it was always nice to be introduced as Georgie’s partner, knows that it’s more than a little lovely to refer to himself as Martin’s boyfriend.</p><p>But that instinctive <em>knowledge</em> just from a glance, that the person beside you is the one in life who’s your absolute partner in all things. Your companion. Jon looks across the table at Martin, finds him watching the pair with a tender sort of affection that Jon’s seen directed at him more than once. His boyfriend looks back at him and grins, amused and pleased.</p><p>Knowing that people can tell how important Martin is to him just by looking, would be nice, he thinks.</p><p>Jon takes another swig of tea and determines that he’s finished with his food, settling back in his chair and cradling his mug against his chest like a small hot water bottle. This brew tastes like regret, in a wistful way.</p><p>He remembers… the feel of walking towards London alone as Martin disappeared into the Lonely for the third time.</p><p>… the moment of realising what Helen really was.</p><p>… turning his back on Jonah and heading after Peter without hesitation.</p><p>“Tell us more about how you got him back, Zolf.” Jon says suddenly, then realises how he’s phrased it, blinking a few times. “I mean. If you wouldn’t mind?”</p><p>They proceed to share a story so achingly familiar that Jon feels almost breathless with it. A long walk, searching for the other piece of your heart, having to convince them to come back, not being sure what to say or what to do to make it happen.</p><p>Despite everything he’s seen these past few months, despite every difficulty, every horror, he can flash himself back to the Lonely without even really trying, can remember the sand beneath his shoes and the desperate worry that it’s not, in the end, going to be enough.</p><p>And then the breakthrough. He watches Zolf squeeze Oscar’s hand, laughing through telling of what a <em>dick</em> he’d been and smirking around a hundred unsaid words.</p><p>“That, uh. That sounds... familiar?” Martin says once they’ve finished, looking to Jon for reassurance.</p><p>“Oh?” Oscar smiles, but there’s a suggestion that he’s only just holding back on his curiosity. “You didn’t mention there was something so weighty in your past.”</p><p>“You didn’t <em>sense </em>it?” Jon shoots back, smiling with relatively good humour but wondering if there’s anything that’s going to land as a successful jibe against this man.</p><p>“Sadly, Jon, I am not telepathic.” Oscar glances at Zolf, briefly. “Well, not anymore.”</p><p>“There was a time.” Martin says, stepping in before Jon can put voice to any of the words on his tongue. “When Jon and I were separated by, well, an Eldritch terror intent on undermining another equally terrible Eldritch horror.”</p><p>Zolf frowns. “A what?”</p><p>Oscar chuckles. “If you read more than romance novels sweetheart, you might recognise the reference.”</p><p>“You’re telling me you’d rather I filled my head with spooky nonsense?” Zolf replies. “I reckon that’s some of your prime bullshit.”</p><p>Oscar laughs with incredible spirit, pleased beyond the telling of it at being called out. “Let’s let them finish no? We can pick this up later and explore it <em>in depth</em>.”</p><p>Zolf grumbles something under his breath that Jon doesn’t quite catch, and then looks back at Martin. “Please, continue.”</p><p>“I knew I couldn’t let him stay there.” Jon says, laying his hand on top of Martin’s offered palm. “So I found him. Brought him back… and ended the world.”</p><p>“Jon…” Martin frowns. “That was Jonah.”</p><p>“Yes… yes of course.”</p><p>Martin’s face softens, losing some of the tension that he always hates to see there. “Either way. You found me.”</p><p>“I would posit that it was never in doubt.” Oscar smiles. “It’s abundantly clear how connected the two of you are, even if you can’t see <em>quite</em> as much as I can.”</p><p>Martin looks thrilled at this, lighting up and squeezing Jon’s hand tight.</p><p>Ah, Jon thinks.</p><p>Yes.</p><p>It is nice.</p><p>#</p><p>They stay at 34 Tite Street for three days, in the end.</p><p>Jon remains strong, remains <em>himself</em> for all of them, watching Martin thrive and laugh and love and <em>live</em> through conversations with strangers and new friends alike.</p><p>But it can’t last.</p><p>Martin steps out into London again without effect, turning around and watching Jon expectantly.</p><p>It would be so easy not to leave. To linger in the safety of the house and not face up to what needs to be done.</p><p>But he won’t.</p><p>He can’t.</p><p>Jon steps out, stumbling as the force of the Eye hits him, every camera and drone turning in his direction.</p><p>Behind him, the door closes, and when he turns around, there’s no longer any welcoming light spilling out from the windows. It looks... like any old house.</p><p>“Well.” Jon says. “I guess that’s that.”</p><p>Martin moves in close, taking Jon’s hand. “Do you remember it this time?”</p><p>Jon thinks over the time they spent, the people they met. The simple joy of Martin’s interactions with (the) Oscar Wilde, and the little reminders of everything that got them to this point. Those memories don’t appear to be flooding away just yet.</p><p>“I do.” He says, looking up at Martin’s smile. “Thank goodness.”</p><p>He remembers Zolf and Oscar, comfortable, happy, accepting and realises that, just maybe, there’s something for them after all of this.</p><p>“Let’s keep going, Martin. We’re nearly there now.”</p>
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